Animal
by District Thirteen
Summary: The beasts know only one law: kill or be killed. And isn't that the law that matters in the end? In the arena, you will murder or you will be murdered. In the arena, you must accept exactly what you are. An animal.


**this is my first fic, so please tell me what you think. constructive criticism is welcome! ^^ i felt compelled to write this because there's no love for the boy from district two, and he deserves a little credit for coming so far. he seems like a beast for most of the book, and doesn't seem to have much of a personality, so i decided to get inside his head. it's morbid, i know, but there are some... interesting things in there...**

_"You may have allies, boy. You may even think you have friends. But the balance is too fragile, much too fragile. Once you're standing in that arena, you will be more alone than you have ever been in your life. And how could you possibly survive that way, without anyone to guide you? You may be handy with a sword, boy, but in the end your state of mind will be what makes or breaks your chance at victory. _

_"The beasts are kept away by the fences and forcefields. You may not have seen them, then. But they know the way to survive. They do not think, they do not feel, they do not dream. They know only one law: kill or be killed. And isn't that the law that matters in the end, boy? In the arena, you will murder or you will be murdered. In the arena, you must accept exactly what you are._

_"An animal."_

I remember his words now. It all flows back, the same way the blood is flowing, only the blood is flowing out and out and it won't stop, and I know I won't live to see the dawn. Well, I might.

But I hope not.

I followed my father's words exactly. They seemed harsh, when I heard them first, when I was twelve and almost innocent, a million miles from this place and safe in my own district. But I felt the emotions and the hopes and the dreams melting away as I went on. When my name was called, when my score was announced, when my platform began to rise. As I stepped into that arena, I became an animal.

The crowd loved me. The sponsors, the Capitol, even the president, I'm certain, all of those foolish people feasted on my victory. They celebrated my every kill, and I know the savage boy from District Two preyed upon their minds. So many times, I felt the thrill that comes with murder. So many times, in fact, that I almost lost control.

I never did, though. Not quite. I walk the fine line in between, and I have lost the luxury of time to cross to either side. Killing, though... Even now, as life drains away, I can conjure the sensation once more. In the first few hours of my dying, I had the foolish hope that I could kill one final time before I am done.

It will never happen.

Because now, the very tributes I have murdered to come so far are seeking their revenge. A beasts killed by his fellows. How the people of the Capitol will enjoy this latest twist of events, how this bittersweet irony will delight them.

But I am no longer the savage I promised to be. In my final hours, I dare to think, to feel... to dream.

I do not want to win. I do not want to be glorified.

I want to die.

Even now, though, I have some pride. I struggle not to groan too much, I strive not to moan too loudly. They hear me, though. Those selfish "star-crossed lovers" from District Twelve. Those pathetic creatures who are able to deceive the Capitol, deceive _each_ _other_, all the while knowing that only one can be alive when the sun rises again.

It seems I have made a sound of agony too loud and too pained for them to ignore. At last, one of them has looked on my ruined form, the wreckage of a once-proud tribute below their golden haven.

I feel my head beginning to cloud. The sun is rising now.

One of them peers over the side to have a better look. Or perhaps a better shot.

It is the girl. Katniss, the girl on fire. The sun frames her, reflecting off the gold of the Cornucopia on which she stands. At least my final moments will be beautiful.

"Please," I gasp, knowing the word will be my last.

She seems to understand. An arrow is knocked on her bow.

I hope she wins. This girl knows how to survive, and I respect her for it. She will rise above the traitor boy who dared to defy the Careers.

The arrow flies towards me, and I assemble my final thought with dignity.

_I am Cato of District Two, and I die today._


End file.
